Once upon a time
by Svetlanacat
Summary: Thrush went up a step : after truth drug, various lethal devices : fairy tales. A child's play, said Napoleon... He should have let sleeping sorcerers lie, and he should have paid attention to Illya's advices. Epilogue 1 up !
1. Chapter 1

A beautiful castle... No time for strolling, Illya lectured himself. Somewhere, in this castle, was a sleeping beauty. Well, a new kind of. Thrush wizards put a spell on his friend. He had to break it. He hoped he would have to...

He stopped before climbing up to the yard. No guards patrolling. That was a relief ! Or not. He froze at this thought : no guards could mean something frightening : no guards, no prisoner... He shook his head, trying to dismiss the idea of his mind. He muttered :« A sleeper doesn't need to be watched out. » « Neither does a dead body... » whispered an awful little voice in his brain. No way ! After all, a fairy tale had to end happily. So, all he had to do was to find his partner and to get ... a Charming Princess.

And to avoid distaff. A child's play.

Waverly read again the last file. He frowned : that was a very amazing affair, as the two others. He had to assign agents to each of them. Why did he keep this one for the two men he was expecting, he couldn't say. Instinct. « He has a real flair for making the right choices. ». He just hoped he'd live up to his reputation. The door opened ;his two visitors came in. They nodded to him and sat down. « Everyone in his place... », he thought. The two young men looked at him, expectantly. Solo mechanically checked his tie ; Waverly cleared his throat.

-Everything and everyone in its place...

Solo raised an eyebrow while the blond man gave a barely perceptible smile. Napoleon nevertheless spotted it and rolled his eyes : this « know-all » Russian apparently grasped what it was about...

The Old Man went on.

-Some bird-watchers of ours have reported very amazing things, young men.

-Does Thrush have insomnia ? Do they need bedtime stories ? - The Russian leaned back in his chair and looked at his partner. -Andersen, Napoleon.

He spoke gently, as a teacher explaining something to a kid. Something obvious to an obtuse kid. Solo tried to avoid looking sulky, and casually asked :

-Andersen ?

-Hans Christian Andersen. _Everything and everyone in its place_ is an Andersen's tale, Mr Solo. Not the most well-known, however.... -Oh, you should rip off this impish grin, my friend... -Miss Dancer flew to Copenhagen two hours ago. _The man who went off to learn fear..._

Illya Kuryakyn's smile became doubtful.

-First, Andersen, now, Grimm ? And, then, Perrault ? _The Little Red Riding Hood ?_

-Mr Slate is on his way to Germany, Mr Kuryakyn. And, yes, Perrault, but it's rather _the Sleeping Beauty._

Napoleon was at a total loss.

-Would you please explain, gentlemen, for those who don't speak fairy tales ?

-A minute, Mr Solo. About that, ... Mr Kuryakyn is fluent in French and you, almost, aren't you ?

Solo could have heard Illya giggling ; he looked daggers at his partner, but didn't succeed in erasing his angelic smile.

-_Bien sûr, monsieur_. ( Of course, sir.) But...

-_Tu vas pouvoir améliorer ton accent, mon ami_. ( You'll have the chance to improve your accent, my friend.)

Solo ignored him.

-What is it about, sir ? What's the connection between those tales and Trush ?

-A few weeks ago, some important people, in Denmark and others Northern countries began to act strangely : at first, they « tidied » up all...their desks, their offices, their home... quite fanatically. Then, they disappeared. At least, they seemed to. Actually, each of them went back to « his place ». A well-known scientist is now a fisherman, as his ancestors ; a banker is a reindeers breeder... They don't remember anything of their jobs, they don't recognize their family...

Illya hissed.

-April'll look for the flute ? Shhh... Napoleon : in this tale, the sound of a flute put everybody in his place... I'll lend you the book... and well, sir, are we to reckon Trush devised a sort of sound wave equipment, more sophisticated than a flute ?

-We are, young man, we are... As you said, Miss Dancer'll hunt the flute. Besides, in Germany, many people died, or were maimed, due to dreadful... and odd accidents : although none of them was known to be suicidal, they ... put their life on the line... in all the ways you can imagine.

Illya turned toward his partner.

-Napoleon, in this tale, the hero, a young prince, doesn't know fear : monsters, pain, death, nothing scares him. He tries everything, all he wants is to shiver... once.

-Amazing... Does he succeed ?

-You'll probably like it : his wife finds the clue...

Solo chuckled. His friend looked overwhelmed.

-It's a tale, Napoleon, The Grimm wrote it for children : don't fantasize about it.

Waverly banged the desk with his briar. It put a stop to their banter. This time, Solo didn't miss the point.

-Perrault ? The Sleeping Beauty ? I guess, some people, in France, pricked their fingers, fell soundly asleep, and nothing can waken them ?

-You put ... your finger on it, Mr Solo. Just like the Sleeping Beauty. Pinpricks on the hands, the arms. Some fell asleep at home, at office. Some were driving... France is for both of you... until our Trush friends use new tales in other countries. Oh, something else, Mr Kuryakyn : a Russian name, « Ruyguény Iousséi »... heard in a conversation, in Paris. Check it...

Waverly dismissed them. On the way to their office, Solo noticed that his friend wasn't yet in the mood for joking. He walked thoughtfully. Solo sighed : he knew this man for five years : two minutes before, he didn't seem at all concerned. Except for mocking at his partner... Now, he fell silent. « Time to use your brain, Solo... »

-Come on, Illya : just now, we're... bird-catchers. You probably know some tale about bird-catchers?

The Russian looked appalled.

-Bird catchers ? No, Napoleon : the sleeping beauty doesn't need any bird-catcher. We'll have to find ... a Charming Prince !

Napoleon Solo forced a chuckle ; he didn't undervalue the situation, but wanted to push his self-contained partner into telling what bothered him, at the right moment.

-Good : April looks for a flute, Mark ... What...

-Ice. The prince's wife dropped ice on his husband, and he... shivered.

The voice was weary and the tone... dull. No way. He had to go further.

-A flute for April, some ice for Mark, and a Charming Prince for us... It looks like child's play !


	2. Chapter 2

Illya Kuryakyn frowned.

-Child's play ? Fairy tales weren't always written for children, Napoleon.

-What do you mean ? Of course they are ! A wolf ate a little red riding hood, and her grandma ; terrible ! But a hunter opened the wolf's stomach, taking out the child and the old woman. That's fairy tale ! We can rely on Thrush, however, to spice them up.

-The Grimm brothers saved the child and the grandma. Perrault didn't : « The wicked wolf fell upon Little Red Riding Hood, and ate her all up. » In older oral traditions...

-All right, all right. We live in the twentieth century ; no more tales, no more witchcraft, and very few wolfes ! Just... thrushes, and I think that's enough !

-Thrushes...

The Russian whispered the word. Solo had to handle the situation.

-May I remind you that you're an enforcement agent of the UNCLE, coupled with a scientist? Illya, you seemed to enjoy yourself, in Waverly's office. What's the matter, now ? A Thrush operative has got a very active imagination, that's unusual, but we'll probably handle it, as we always do..

-I didn't really enjoy myself about it, Napoleon...

The Russian looked at him sheepishly. He went on on a grim tone.

-There are many scaring tales in the world, my friend. We have to stop our birds of ill omen before...

Solo have seen this man face death unflinchingly. He didn't like the worry in his friend's eyes. While they were talking, both were collecting their equipment. The older agent stopped.

-Illya, is it... Do you... do you know this Russian man, this Evgueny... Ry...

-Ruyguény Iousséi, Napoleon. No.

-No?

Solo sighed : efficiency in the action, efficiency in the talking. If only one word was needed, one word it his astonishment, the Russian commented :

-No, it isn't a Russian.

-Ruyguény Iousséi isn't a Russian ?

The shadow of a smile.

-No. Ruyguény Iousséi isn't Russian. Actually, it isn't a man, my friend. It's a place.

Solo startled : he held their plane tickets to Paris. If they had to go in the USSR... Illya Kuryakyn noticed his friend's hesitation.

-Don't worry. We 'll fly to Paris. Then, we'll probably have to reach Ruyguény Iousséi. In fact, Rigny-Ussé. American accent...

Smile, again. A little less shy.

-Okay. And what is this place ? I never heard this name.

-It's a small town, in the Indre et Loire, whith a beautiful castle. This castle, Napoleon, is known to have inspired Charles Perrault : it's the castle of The Sleeping Beauty. I don't like it, my friend. Thrush ... Usually Thrush isn't in this mood : there are easier ways to get rid of somebody : all that stuff... that's a waste of money, of time. « Unthrush » manners. I don't like it.

-Did we ever like a Thrush operation ?

-No. Napoleon, listen to what I say : they usually don't play ; whatever they want, they are efficient at it. In this case... I don't understand.

The Russian didn't end his sentence but he made it plain what he thought about the new affair. Solo waited and put a hand on his right shoulder.

-And ? Tomorrow, we'll be in France. Paris, first, then as soon as possible,... you know where. You don't understand what Thrush has in mind ? Neither do I, partner. Be that as it may, Thrush is behind all this mess. If not, who ? A witch ? A sorcerer ? A demon ? The three together ? Let's add one or two vampires, some bats, and, oh, yes, of course, a wolf ! Perhaps... babayaga ?

Solo played the humorous note, just to soothe his friend's sudden bad mood. Wastefully.

-Quand on parle du loup... Talk of the devil, Napoleon...

Solo gave up.

-Illya, please... Let's go home : we have to pack our luggage, then ... the airport.

In the cab, Solo looked at his partner. Still silent. Not prickly, not aloof. Just lost in thought.

-A penny for them, Illya ?

-Did you read Macbeth, Napoleon ?

Oh, no... Anything than can go wrong, will... The three witches, now.

-Yes, Illya, I did.

-You asked me for my thoughts ? I can just tell you a feeling : something wicked in the air comes...


	3. Chapter 3

Everything went off perfectly. Wonderfuly. Harker shut the book he handed, and headed for the narrow window that looked out on an amazing scene. Below were the city, and the river. He knew it, but a bank of mist hid them, and he could believe that the castle was floating in the air. Nice.

He heard footsteps in the corridor, et came back in the room. His visitor was on time. As usual.

The man knocked at the door and entered.

-Ellsing, nice to see you !

Ellsing was a sort of invisible man : you asked three witnesses to depict him : you had three different men. He was ... ordinary, neither tall nor small, neither young nor old. Harker knew him for many years, but as Dorian Gray, he actually seemed younger than the first time they met. Actually, too, Harker could have said Ellsin was about two inches smaller than him. Six months ago, he could have sworn he was taller. His eyes were gray. With a little blue. And sometimes rather green.

-It's rude to stare, Mr Harker.

Civil. Respectful. But clear. He said what he thought, plainly.

-Oh, yes, sorry. Well, Ellsing, let me know how things are doing.

-Denmark and Germany are done. France, you ought to know. In five days, we'll get to work on Great Britain. Next month, Italy.

Harker caught the book he was reading : Dickens, a fancy for Christmas time, _**The Haunted Man and the Ghost's Bargain... **_Redlaw, the hero,was a teacher of chemistry ; he brooded over his past and lived in sorrow. A spirit appeared, offering him a strange gift : he could forget all the sorrow, the wrong he had known. Redlaw agreed. No memories of his painful past. But no happiness : Redlaw was full of bitterness, anger, an anger he couldn't explain. Dickens's tale ended well : Redlaw recovered his memories, and could forgive those who had harmed him. Harker had another idea : his tale wouldn' end so well : a very angry man wouldn't stop at anything... The Italian tale was... here. _**I tre talismani, The three talisman**_...

-The brainwashings are « in progress », in London.

Ellsing's voice was as dull as himself. He stood, silent, now. Harker put the books back.

-So, everything is okay...

-Well, we might have a... family affair. Our uncle is up to his old tricks again... I have been told that ... cousin April was in Denmark, cousin Mark in Germany...

Annoying. It was to be expected, too. A minor drawback.

-We are ahead of them, in any case. What's on the way... is on the way.

For the first time, Ellsin's stoic features strained.

-Cousin Napoleon and cousin Illya are exspected tomorrow in Paris, Mr Harker.

A little more annoying. No. Much more annoying. But foreseeable... Harker hesitated.

-See that they have a peaceful reception, Ellsing.

-We'll give them a warm welcome...Count on our men. I think, we have some scores to settle with those two guys. This time they'll have to reckon with us.

Damn fool ! He'd be lucky! There was not much hope ...

-NO, Ellsing : I said : a peaceful reception. I want them to feel secure. Absolutely secure. Make sure that nothing happen to them. Not now.

Ellsing looked blank.

-But...

-That's an order, Ellsin. You're dismissed.

The man, reluctantly nodding, went out. Harker sat down, and shut his eyes. Uncle's birdwatchers were efficient. He'll have to report. And he wasn't in a hurry to do it. Nevertheless, he had no choice. He shivered : old castle, old windows... There was a fireplace, but a cold draft of air swirled around him. Harker muttered a curse.

-Are we to exspect a... difficulty, Mr Harker ?

A deep voice. Cold.

Harker jumped out the armchair and turned toward the newcomer. Breathless, he managed to articulate.

-Good afternoon, Mr Heak.

-Eaque, Mr Harker, E-aque. Just like Eaque, one of the judge, in the realm of the Death. I heard about an .. uncle ?

Harker shivered again. He felt a little dizzy, but he knew better than to sit down.

-Yes, Mr E-aque (Harker took pains to spell the name). I told you about UNCLE. Eventually, they are aware of what happened in Denmark and in Germany. But we'll deal with them : Thrush and Uncle, it's an old story.

Harker tried to sound optimistic. Eaque peered at him. Dark eyes. Black eyes. Not brown, black. With glints of silver. He made up his mind to look for the bugs...

-You should sit down, Mr Harker. You're white as a ghost.

Oh, better and better : after the realm of the Death, a ghost. This man was always ready with a joke ! Eaque pushed him slightly in the armchair.

-Tell me about your... cousins ? A rather large family...

Harker cleared his throat. Eaque sat on the oak table, and the Thrushman had to raise his head.

-Concerning Miss Dancer and Mr Slate, there is no point worrying about.

Eaque waved a hand. Harker winced : it looked as if he wore a black silk tunics with large sleeves floating in the air. He blinked and the vision went away. Eaque wore a very classic outfit : dark suit, white shirt, black tie. A subdue voice.

-We'll see about that.

Predictable. How interesting ! Harker wondered whether Eaque listened to him. He sighed.

-The two others... Napoleon Solo, and Illya Kuryakyn... the two others might be a problem.

-What sort of ... problem?

There was an uncomfortable silence. Who decided to strike a bargain with this man, Harker wished he'd have been told... Meanwhile, he chose honesty.

-They are... good. Very good. Well matched. They never give up. They have a gift for escaping; The worse is the situation, the best they are... To sum up, they are...

Harker took a deep breath. Unlike Ellsin, he had met Solo and Kuryakyn. He had made the same mistake as many others. He had taken them for granted. He had escaped by the skin of his teeth. To sum up...

-They are survivors.

Eaque gave a short laugh. A content laugh. Harker was amazing. The tall man smiled, for the first time. An almost warm smile... Quite .. enthusiastic. Would eventually Solo and his Russian partner meet their match ?

-Survivors ! You know what ? I like survivors. I like them... very much. So do my associates. I am eager to meet your friends, Mr Harker.

-They aren't exactly my friends... They'll land in Paris tomorrow. I ...

Eaque cut him short.

-Perhaps they would like to do some touring ? Les Châteaux de la Loire... a pleasant area, isn't ?

This was really the limit : Harkers' superior was to make a fool of himself. Eaque posed as a mysterious guy, with amazing, almost supernatural powers. In fact, he was an awful idiot.

-It isn't a very bright idea, Mr Eaque ! As far as possible, we have to keep them apart. You don't know them. They are sort of pain in the...

-Ssssh, Mr Harker.

It was as if Eaque was to give him a rap over the knuckles ! Harker was fed up, and he felt his cheeks blushing. He stood up and barked.

-I work for Thrush, Mr Eaque. We've a bargain with you, okay. You do what you have to, I do my job. You think that Solo and Kuryakyn need some touring ? I agree. We'll send them in ... why not in Corsica ? Quite appropriate, for Mr Solo. We'll let them investigate, we'll give them something to keep them happy. When the cats are away, the mice will play without worrying. Waverly trusts those two men and as long as they'll be busy ...

Eaque cut him off again.

-Your Uncle made sense of our fairy tales affair, Mr Harker. You shouldn't undervalue your enemy. The Sleeping Beauty, in Corsica...

It was Harker's turn !

-It was humor, Mr Eaque. Solo and Kuryakyn **will** **stay in Paris**, and they **will stay alive**. For the moment. I don't want to worry, neither about an army of Thrush agents hunting those two guys nor about an army of Uncle agents dropping to help them, to take revenge, and to investigate again. And I don't undervalue my enemy. Mr Kyryakyn studied at the Sorbonne, and he undoubtedly knows about Charles Perrault who took part in the setting up of the Science Academy. Paris'll be a nice playing ... field for two Uncle field agents... I tell you, Mr Eaque, let me do my part of the bargain.

Harker felt better. He had shut the guy up ! He eyed him up and down. Eaque headed for the window. He was taken aback. Harker suppressed a giggle. He had let himself overawed by this man... Eaque turned toward him. Much to Harker's surprise, he smiled, then looked back to the window.

-You talked about _our _bargain, Mr Harker ? Thrush begged for it : beggars can't be choosers ; half a loaf is better than none.

Eaque smiled again. He set Harker's nerves on edge. The Thrushman was to lose his head.

-Easy, Mr Harker, easy ... Do you know this proverb, in French ? Very funny : _Faute de grives, on mange des merles._ When you have no thrushes, you can always eat blackbirds... On the other hand, when you have both...


	4. Chapter 4

Ellsing heard the door close behind him.

He went along the corridor, down the steps. In the entrance hall, he leant against the wall. Harker was an idiot ; he played the boss. Ellsing had no trouble with authority. But this loser... No. A smile came on his lips. A warm reception ? Yes, of course, Mr Harker. The reception would be warm. Hot. Harker had failed. He had fought against the two Uncle agents, he had lost. He was afraid of them. He regarded them as ...invincible. Ellsing didnt agree. They were men, good, very good, but surely not invincible. The situation needed one thing : efficiency. HE was efficient. He went out and reached the park, where his men were waiting.

* * *

-Illya !

No answer. Napoleon Solo sighed. As soon as they had settled down in the plane, his partner had thrown himself into his book. Solo wasn't having much luck : no charming passengers, and a stewardess who remained unmoved by his advances.

-Illya !

-Mmm? I'm reading, Napoleon, just in case ,don't you notice ?

-No, you aren't, my friend. You have read the same page for half an hour.

-That's a little bit excessive, tovarisch. However, although it's flattering to be the object of your constant attention, don't you have anything else to do ?

The book was shut. First step.

-So to speak, Illya, no, I haven't.

The book was put down. Second step. The Russian looked at him, openly annoyed.

-What's the matter, Napoleon ? I take it you didn't find any girl to prey upon...

Solo knew better than to play the offended man. The Russian sighed and went on.

-I was reading again The Sleeping Beauty : Perrault wrote it in 1697, but the Grimm brothers wrote their own version, in 1812.

Napoleon Solo decided to show some willing. To tell the truth, he was actually feeling the urge to sent Perrault, the Grimm brothers, and Andersen packing...

-And ?

-Perrault's tale is rather « nice ». All the inhabitants sleep for one century, in the castle, sheltered by a deep forest. When the day comes, the Charming Prince go through the castle, without any trouble. The Grimm brothers' tale is ... different. Thorn-bushes grew around the castle, higher and higher. For one century, many young princes tried to reach the castle. They failed, Napoleon. Prickles hooked them, and they died ... quite unpleasantly.

-Tales for children... You bet ! And how did our Charming Prince succeed ?

-As in Perraults's. He just comes on time. No more prickles, just flowers. At least, there are no thornbushes around Rigny-Ussé.

-Just our luck ! I take it we have to go to ... that place as soon as possible ?

The Russian looked doubtful. Solo felt uncomfortable. His usually inscrutable partner was clearly worrying about something.

-I tell you again, Napoleon, I don't like it. Rigny-Ussé is a small town in the country. This castle is really a castle of fairy tale. It isn't a convenient set for a Thrush operation. I don't understand... It might be ... a trap, a trick. Something to keep us apart from the important things. Perhaps we should investigate in Paris, first. And perhaps we are all wasting time, April in Denmark, Mark in Germany, you and me in France...

Solo was amazed ; Illya wasn't one to let his thoughts wander. As the CEA, his duty was to steady his fellow partners. Illya Kuryakyn hadn't ever needed it. Till then.

-Napoleon ! Are you even listening ?

-Of course, I do. You're right. Time is important. We can't waste it. You'll investigate in Paris. I'll go to ... that place. Calm down, I'll bring a machete, an ax, if you please.

His humour didn't bring the house down, but he didn't want to let things ride.

-You're wrong, too, Illya : you think that all that stuff is « ineffective ». No, it isn't. Thrush succeeded : lately, my partner, you, my friend, hasn't been himself. You overreact to this and...

If he could have taken those words back... The Russian gazed at him All emotion shut down.

-I am fine, Napoleon. If I have caused you any concern, I regret it, and I apologize.

The words were glowing, the voice cold, icy, as the blue stare. Oh, well done, Solo.

-I didn't want to pry, Illya. It's an unusual affair, and I need my partner. I trust you, my friend, for dear life. I thought you were trusting me.

The gentle words hung in the air for awhile, until a little warm came back in the blue eyes. A faint smile. The shadow of a smile.

-I trust you, Napoleon. I did since the first time we met. In my bones, I trust you. And you can trust me, you know that.

-I do, Illya, I do. So, you'll stay in Paris for a few days, while I'll instigate in...

-Rigny Ussé. You can't go there if you don't even get the ability to pronounce the name... Ri-gny U-ssé. That's easy !

-Rui-niy Oussé ? That' s it ! I got it ! However, Illya, **I **have to go there.

Illya Kuryakyn raised an eyebrow, looking at the impish smile that appeared on his friend's face. Solo was waiting for a question ? He wasn't going to give him satisfaction. The older man frowned and went on.

-I have to go, because** I** ... kind of deserve it.

Kuryakyn gave up.

-**You **... deserve it, Napoleon ?

The impish smile became a devilish one. Napoleon looked like the cat that got the cream...

-Come on, Illya : the situation needs a Charming Prince. Who else ...?

The Russian couldn't help chuckling. The legendary Solo's good mood had struck again. The black clouds disappeared. For the moment.

* * *

Illya Kuryakyn crouched behind a bush. Some box, to judge by the smell. He had decided to wait the sunset. « The situation needs a Charming Prince. Who else ? » Napoleon's words. Illya knew his partner ; it was likely he knew him better than he did anyone... Confident, relaxed , Napoleon had gone to hell several times, and back. « I'll get you out of that, my friend. You are the lucky man. » Well; except for a little detail... No Charming Princess, even no frog. To kiss a frog, however ... it worked to get a Prince. A Princess ... « Oh, my friend : if all you need is a Charming Prince, to kiss you, well, you'll just have me. » He bit his lips : he remembered his own words : « I trust you, Napoleon. I did since the first time we met. In my bones, I trust you. » He had trusted Napoleon Solo since the first time they met. It was the truth. Later, things had got a bit complicated. Far much complicated. And hopeless. He shook his head. Napoleon was the **Charming**Prince, but Illya Kuryakyn was known as the** Ice**Prince. Distant. Aloof. « A computer is more humane than this man. » No one dared to say that loudly, if Napoleon was around. Illya sadly smiled. His friend paid attention to him. A constant attention. A painful attention.

Stones rolled on his left. On the alert, the Russian lied down flat on the ground, and stopped breathing. Someone panted up the alley, and it looked like he didn't worry at all about the noise. Illya Kuryakyn slowly raised his head. In the dark pink light of the sunset, he saw a bruised and swollen face, covered in sweat and blood. The man took a step forward. A few more, and he'd stumble over him. In a split second, he was taken down, helpless. First, a raw panic in his eyes, witch turned into ... relief. The stunned Russian hesitated, and lowered the fist clenched above the man's neck.

-Kurya... Kuryakyn ! I would never have thought I could say that, but ... I am happy to see you. You don't recognize me, I see. I am ... Ellsing.

Ellsing ? This snake of Ellsing ? He was to raise again his fist, when an idea flashed across his mind.

-Of course... You look like something the cat brought in, Ellsing. You said you were happy to see me, so am I . Where is my partner ? You'd rather know it and tell me. There'll be no second chance.

-For all that I know, he is in the castle. And you'll need my help, Kuryakyn.

-You bet ! I surely don't need you. All that mess is a Thrush operation and...

Ellsing cut him in.

-A mess it is, Kuryakyn. Do you see any Thrush guards, here ? Look around. No one. Do you see me ? As you said, something the cat brought in. Your friend is in the castle. Probably. He might be alive... I can't vouch for it. But I'll help you...

-A selfless Thrushman ? How amazing ... You won't fool me, Ellsing. You are nothing else than a ... useless burden. I waste time with you.

-For... for our world's sake, Kuryakyn, listen to me, You want to get back your Solo. Let me help you. Yesterday, there were twenty-three Thrush operatives, here. Where are they ? You are good. I've experienced it ! However, not good enough against...

The Thrushman was still panting.

-Against... ?

-Against our « associate ». A ... man named Eaque. I don't know much ; Harker was the one who worked with him, but I am sure he is responsible for all that happened. And it might get worse and worse.

Kuryakyn released his hold a little. Ellsing straightened back.

-I give you my word, Ellsing, that I'll personally kill you if you betray me. If we get out this alive, my partner, you and me, I might, I say, **I might**, let you survive. Have we a bargain ?

It was a game of bluff. Illya Kuryakyn had formed his opinion of Ellsin, in Paris. An efficient operative, a cold blooded murderer. No misconception. Kuryakyn acknoledged a true professional, when he met one. Something, someone had frightened this man. It can't be left out consideration. The Thrush man nodded.

-We have a bargain. Unity is strength, isn't it ?

The Russian helped Ellsing up. Night was falling, already ; the Trushman and the Uncle agent turned toward the castle, a dark block, darker than the sky.

* * *

-Yes, sir. Brussels, Sir. We had a rerouting of our flight. Fog, sir. Yes, sir, we'll rent a car. Yes, sir, as soon as poss.... Stop laughing, Illya. He has broken off the call ! Next time, you'll report to him !

-No, no, my friend, you are the senior agent... You've to take the bad with the good...

-And you've to rent a car, Russian brat !


	5. Chapter 5

Whistling, Ellsing gave the signal. Four men immediately appeared.

-Have you seen this guy ?

Ferat was his right-hand man. If he asked, there was a reason for his doing that.

-Which guy ?

-He came in the top end of the park. The others must have checked him. You have probably met him in the old tower

-A dungeon, Ferat, it's called a dungeon. No, I didn't meet anyone, but I stopped for awhile in the back room, downstairs, so...

-Yeah...

Ferat wasn't pleased with that.

-What's the matter with this guy ?

-Well, I don't know. He has crossed the... ground, there...

-The main courtyard.

-The main courtyard. He has stopped right in the middle, and he has listened something.

-Listened ? What ?

-Well, er... He hadn't anything in the hand, and except for the birds, there was nothing... Then, he has shaken his head, and entered your tower. He was... he was laughing, sir.

Ellsing smiled.

-Good, he'll keep Harker compagny !

Ellsin beckoned his men to follow him. They left the gardens and reached a little cafe, lower down.

* * *

-You say... you want... we are going to disobey Mr Harker's orders ?

Ellsing had dismissed three of his men, with precise instructions. Ferat was peeking at him.

-Yes, we are.

-That's ... mutiny, sir.

Ellsing smiled, and put his hand on Ferat's arm. Mutiny...

-Harker is a poor mutt, Ferat. Uncle is a plague. Uncle agents are a nuisance. We've the opportunity of getting rid of our worst enemy, and I shall not let it slip !

-Yes, sir, but...

-But... nothing, Ferat. There's something going on. Thrush might win ... the world. This damn fool could screw it up ! Solo and Kuryakyn are adversaries to be feared, I agree. Harker chose to keep clear of them. I chose to liquidate them. Are you with me in that ?

Solo and Kuryakyn... the Uncle top agents ... A challenge. A revenge. A priceless trophy... Ferat trusted his boss. If he thought they could, they could.

-Count on me, sir.

* * *

Napoleon Solo stretched in the comfortable seat of the sedan. When they had to take a car, Illya was invariably the one who drove. In case of a long ride, they took turns, of course. Napoleon laughed to himself. They had got into this habit since their first meetings. A young Russian, new in The Town ... No hang-ups. Illya had held out his hand. Taken aback, Solo had given the keys. The arrogant boy !Then Solo had waited : the uneasiness, the doubts, the sweat, the slam on the brakes, a minor accident... Nothing. The boy liked to drive. Wrong. He loved it. Solo peeked at his friend. Despite his recent concerns, Illya 's face wore a peaceful, serene look. The older agent remembered this first time : he had wondered himself wether the KGB hadn't tattooed the young man's brain with the map of New-York... Gently rocked by the car and the feeling of trust, Solo fell asleep.

Napoleon had taken his turn at the wheel. Illya Kuryakyn closed his eyes, expecting an instantaneous dropping off to sleep, as usual. His friend often teased im, about his ability to fall asleep anywhere, in any situation whatever. It didn't work, this time. The Russian got a bad feeling about the Fairy Tales Affair. He understood Napoleon's concern, but he couldn't really explain what was affecting him. All that happened... it was strange, but it could be explained : drugs, waves, brainwashings... He didn't mind about it. There were Thrush specialities. The way of doing it was the problem. Andersen, Grimm, Perrault... Illya lectured himself ; his optimistic partner was right. Some Thrush operative had gone wild... Probably. The younger agent watched the driver through his eyelashes. Careful. Efficient. Secure. Illya Kuryafyn eventually fell asleep.

* * *

-Cancelled ? What do you mean, cancelled ?

The usually imperturbable Ellsing foamed.

-A rerouting, sir. To much fog, and...

-Where are they ?

-Brussels, sir...

Ellsing stormed out the hall ; Ferat followed close on his heels. All hell was broking loose. Ellsing's plan was brilliant : lookouts, beaters, snipers... but no Uncle agents. That was the snag... The boss leaned against the wall. Ferat looked at him.

-They'll rent a car. I am going to call Brussels. In half an hour, we'll know the make of ...

-So what ? Will you post guards on all the ways in ? Damned fog ! « Unforeseen » !A « weather accident ». I have to report to Harker. He might have an idea, by chance.

Ellsing went back to the parking. Ferat shivered, and sheltered from the mist in the hall. A few minutes later, he saw a grim Ellsing beckoning him out.

-Harker doesn't answer. Neither the guards. I don't like that. I want you to go back to Rigny Ussé with your guys. You watch, you check and you report to me. No, Ferat. Nothing else. Whatever you find.

-What are you...?

Ellsing raised his head and look around.

-Thrushes have nests... So do Uncle agents. I know some places... Wish me luck...

Ferat looked like a poor dog.

-Don't worry, Ferat. I don't want to nab them alone. Jst spot them. Nothing more. Now, go !

-On my way, sir.

* * *

-You like the Paris metro, don't you ? The tube for you, so, and, the car for me. Am I not the senior agent ?

Illya Kuryakyn scowled at his friend with a grin. Napoleon was to leave for Rigny Ussé, and Illya should investigate about the sleepers in Paris. They would keep in touch on a regular basis. The two agents looked each other. The Russian put his hand on his partner's arm, and slightly squeezed it.

-Remember, my friend, avoid distaff...

Napoleon Solo hated those moments ; every time they were on a mission like this, they knew that one of them might not come back. It didn't stop them. It didn't stop any Uncle agent. It was a part of the job. For some years, however, Solo had learned to take account of Illya's skills.  
He simply smiled.

-Ts,ts, Illya, I am the Charming Prince : no distaff for me. You, on the other hand...

Solo bit his lips. Illya rolled his eyes. Napoleon was teasing him, again ? The Russian willingly played the game.

-Yes, Napoleon ?

The smile fainted.

-Nothing, Illya, nothing. Just... be careful.

-As usual...

Illya Kuryakyn followed the car with his eyes.

* * *

Ellsing was a patient man. There was very little hope of finding the Uncle agents in Paris, barring a miracle, or a large waste of time. Time he hadn't. But if he didn't know where Solo and Kuryakyn stood, at the moment, he knew where they would go, sooner or later. You can run after the lions through the savanna. You can wait besides the waterholes. Not very sporting. Efficient That was why Ellsing had settled himself near an impersonal building, which housed a very secluded clinic.

Ellsing was a hunter.

* * *

Illya Kuryakyn sat on the ground ; he draw his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around his legs and gazed at the flowered wallpaper of the bedroom. He had got the files from his French colleagues, and had read them. This affair was a nefarious plan. He had called Napoleon, too. Everything was okay with him. The Russian got up. He had to go the that clinic, where the « sleeping beauties » were taken care of.

* * *

Ellsing usually wasn' self-satisfied, but he felt blown up with pride. He had guessed right. It was time for the big cats. Well, one big cat. Not so big. Apparently. The blond figure crossed the threshold of the building. He wasn't much to look at, but Ellsing knew better than to undervalue the man. He had told Ferat that he he didn't want to nab the Uncle agents alone. He lied. It wasn't self-satisfaction, just a justified self-assurance. « Divide and rule »... Half the job was done. First the Russian, second, Solo.

* * *

The overview delighted Napoleon Solo'eyes. This caste was... a marvel. It was really the set for a fairy tale. Nothing bad could happen in such a place. He felt guilty. Poor Illya, stuck in Paris, piecing together a picture of the events...

* * *

Ellsing wasn't accustomed to admitting defeat. He had gone on the prowl. He had thought that it was the right time, that he would take his prey by surprise. But this man seemed to be always on the alert. While Ellsing was tailing him, it had been a hell of a time slipping his attention. It would be a challenge. Ellsing loved challenges. He smiled, as a thought crossed his mind. Uncle agents had a big shortcoming. All of them had it : they cared for the « Innocents ». Thrush didn't. A lethal shortcoming for Mr Kuryakyn. Ellsing looked around and followed the Russian down to the underground station. Good thing, the Parisian tube. Many corridors, and some innocents... Let's turn the table !

-

-


	6. Chapter 6

Waverly hit his desk with his fist. Nothing. He had sent his best agents in Europe. They didn't find anything... except ... victims. No trail. Not the smallest. He had already called back Dancer and Slate. Solo's report was as discouraging than the others. They thought that this ... place ( thanks to Mr Kuryakyn...) might be trail... Solo was actually investigating in « charming city », with «a beautiful castle ». No birds around. Kuryakyn was always in Paris. Waverly waited for his report. The old man frowned ; however, he had smelled a rat. A very big and very nasty rat.

* * *

Illya kuryakyn had helped the old lady to get up quickly, and he shielded her quickly from the invasion of students.

-Allez-vous bien, madame ? Etes-vous blessée ? ( Are you all right, Madam ? Are you hurt ?)

The old lady shook like a leaf, but the sight of his gentle face, of those so worried eyes... and blue, so blue, as blue as her grand-daughter's ... And... oh ! This horrible cut on his cheek... She shyly stretched out her hand, as to stroke it. He took her fingers and raised them to his lips. The old lady blushed. So young, and so nice...

-Je vais bien, madame. Ne vous inquiétez pas.( I'm fine, madame. Don't worry.)

-Qui était-ce ? Que voulait-il ? Pourquoi moi ? C'était un voleur ? ( Who was it ? What did he want ? Why me ? Was he a thief ?)

Illya Kuryakyn smiled.

-Probablement, mais il est parti. Je vais vous accompagner jusqu'à la gare. ( Probably, but he's gone. I am going to see you to the station.)

-Mais nous devons appeler la police. Il était armé. Il aurait pu vous tuer ... ( But we have to call the police ! He had weapons ! He might have killed you...)

-Tout va bien maintenant. Si vous voulez, vous lappellerez la police depuis le quai. Venez. ( Everything is okay, now. If you wish, you'll call the police when you'll be on the platform. Come on.)

* * *

-Nice to meet you, Mr Kuryakyn

A hissing voice, whispering behind the plan of the underground...

-Don-t move. You don't want something terrible to happen to such a charming old... wreck, do you ?Oh, sorry to be so rude. I know your name, and, well, as I am going to kill you, I have to be civil : may I introduce myself ? My name is Ellsing.

Illya Kuryakyn saw the bloke. A very ordinary man. He held an old lady, paralysed with fear. He held a knife to her neck, and had a gun in the other hand. Of course. An ordinary man. Except for his eyes. Killer's eyes. Snake's' eyes. The eyes of one who could kill you cold-bloodedly. With a mocking smile. Any good Uncle agent should have taken time to think. Illya Kuryakyn didn't. His reaction was pure instinct. He jumped on the man, threw him away. The guy was a damned quick professional. He rolled, and half a second later, the two men were facing each other. Time froze.

A hubbub of voices suddely bursted. Ellsing didn't want a slaughter, and disappeared.

* * *

-An assault ? In the underground ? Only one man ?

Waverly was puzzled but Kuryakyn's report, however, was interesting.

-His name is Ellsing, sir. He is undoubtely Thrush. A good one. I have been lucky.

The tone was grim. The Russian went on.

-I'd have gone after him.

Kuryakyn's modesty... The young Russian, although extremely efficient, was often self-critical. Waverly knew that.

-You had cared about the old lady, and you had sheltered her. What else could you have done, Mr Kuryakyn ? Paris is a good trail. At least, it's one. See to call back Mr Solo, and remind him that isn't yet vacation time. We'll investigate about this Ellsing, and I'll inform you as soon as possible. Oh, Mr Kuryakyn... be careful.

* * *

The tour of the castle had been quite interesting The guide had noticed him, and she had managed to speak slowly. She had told them about Perrault and The Sleeping Beauty, of course. It should have been nice to have Illya, here. Illya. It was time to call him. Napoleon Solo crossed the main court yard, to reach the garden below. He grimaced at the thought of the moment they parted. He had been of the verge of telling his friend things... not to be told. He had been about to offer him his services as ... Charming Prince, purely and simply. Illya should have understood the joke. He should have rolled his eyes, and laughed. Napoleon should have, too. But it wasn't a joke. Illya's laugh should have been unbearable. The senior agent sighed. He shook his head, trying to dismiss those hopeless thoughts from his mind.

He was to take out his communicator, when a strange thing drew his attention. He came nearer and bent forward. A short piece of wood, slightly oblong. Without thinking, he picked it up and chuckled. Oh, yes... it looked like ... a distaff ! Of course, it wasn't. Surely it was a tool, left by a careless gardener. Solo looked around for a place to put it on. A twinge. A bead of blood at the end of his thumb. Solo's eyes glazed over. Well done, Solo ! He just thought before passing out : « Illya'll be mad at me... »

* * *

-Yes, Mr Kuryakyn ? We haven't yet...

-Nap... Mr Solo doesn't answer, sir. I tried and tried again. I am on my way to Rigny Ussé. I have to...

-Mr Kuryakyn ! Mr Kuryakyn ! Mr... Oh, sh...

Waverly muffled a curse. Efficient, self-critical, and stubborn. Incredibly stubborn.

* * *

Ellsing ran out of the station. He was quite sure that the Russian wouldn't go after him, but forewarned was forewarned. The little blond guy had been more than his match. Panting, Ellsing stopped along the Seine. He had to call Ferat. Nothing. Silence. Sputtering. He tried again. Vainly.

He tried Harker. Nothing. Silence. Sputtering.

Ellsing could call some Thrush person in charge. He could do that. What had he to say ? He could go back to Rigny Ussé, alone. He smelled a rat. A very big rat. A very nasty one.


	7. Chapter 7

Suddenly, the castle was floodlighted. A smooth, pink light. Music. A voice.

_« Il était une fois un Roi et une Reine, qui étaient si fâchés de n'avoir point d'enfants, si fâchés qu'on ne saurait dire.... »_

Music, again.

-Of course... The « son et lumière »...

Illya Kuryakynhad whispered, although the background noise. The two men sheltered behind the dry-stone wall. Ellsing fulminated.

-We needed this like a hole in the head ! If we move forward, we'll be caught in the floodlighting... We'd better wait until things blow over.

-No ! It's race against time, Ellsing. The show lasts almost one hour and a half, and we can't...

Kuryakyn broke off. Amazed, Ellsing saw a smile on the Russian's face.

-You're right, Mr Ellsing. We are going to wait. Fifteen minutes. This show isn't only a narration, with lights and music. There are actors and ... extras. I am sure you're very good at this, aren't you ? In about fourteen minutes, now, some horsemen and some guests will cross the main-court yard, for the christening...

Ellsing opened his mouth.

-No, Ellsing, no. I have just read the synopsis, on a guide. I have a very good memory... In the meantime, let's make some small talk. What happened to you, since our first meeting ?

The Thrushman frowned.

-Old habits die hard, don't they ? You said that you wanted to help me. So what happened ? Why are you here ? Where are your friends ?

Ellsing raised his left hand and wiped his face.

-After our « meeting », I tried to call my men, here. No way. I had sent them to ask after Harker. Oh, let's begin... at the beginning. The castle was our headquarters. Why here ? Don't ask. I don't know. Harker's idea, probably. Harker ..., well, Harker thinks that he has the making of a great leader. He has no guts...

-Is Harker your boss ?

-If you like... Harker was supposed to be in the castle, more precisely in the dungeon. Your flight had been rerouted. We were at the airport, and I had to report to this... He didn't answer. So, I sent Ferat and the boys. Harker is still unreachable. As Ferat. ... Ferat... I knew this man for a long time, Mr Kuryakyn. He was... trustworthy. And he was a efficient operative.

The Russian noticed the past tense.

-He had orders... He...trusted me. If he didn't... So, I decided to come here. I had to check...

Illya Kuryakyn shut his eyes. They apparently have one thing in common. God (or Whoever you wanted) helped those who helped themselves, first...

Ellsingwent on. When he had reached the castle, he hadn't found anyone. Any Thrush men, of course. He had bought a ticket, and discreetly left the tour, to get to the dungeon.

-The door was closed. No noise, no sign of life behind the windows. I couldn't force the door in the daylight. I decided to go to the café, below. I thought that they were there, perhaps. That there would be some logical explanation...

Ellsing stopped talking.

-And the cafe was empty, your men weren't there, I guess...

Ellsing stared at the castle. He spoke drearily.

-They were. All four. At the table. There was the café owner, too. And two other customers. No noise, Kuryakyn. Absolutely no noise. Just breathes. They were asleep. All of them... well...

Ellsing turned toward the Russian. His face was bruised, and floodlights colored it blue, green, yellow... He looked like a clown. A sad clown.

-Ferat was my right-hand. He was my friend, too. For all that we could have friends, in our job. I came closer. I shook them, I wanted to wake them up.

New silence.

-Were they... dead?

-They looked like limp dolls. Suddenly... Suddenly, they awoke. They threw themselves upon me. They just wanted to kill me, Kuryakyn. They beat me up. I managed to get my gun, and... They had weapons. All four. They hadn't used them. I don't know why.

-And the others ?

-Nothing. They were asleep. They are always, I guess. The café owner shall have some housework to make...

Illya Kuryakyn squeezed Ellsing's arm. Lights were moving. Actors and extras were drawing nearer : horsemen, guests, servants, monks...

-Let's go down to the business...

Illya Kuryakyn had listened Ellsing's story. He had been compelled to kill his men. To save his life. He had been compelled to kill a man he regarded as a friend. Illya Kuryakyn knew one thing.

He couldn't do that.

Never.

He couldn't kill Napoleon, even to save his own life.

* * *

-Miss Dancer ? Mr Slate ? You speak French, I guess... Mr Solo has vanished in France, without a trace. Mr Kuryakyn looks after him. He might need some help. See to join him as soon as possible. He is in a small city, Rigny Ussé.

-Oh, the castle of The Sleeping Beauty ?

-You know that, Miss Dancer ?

-Girls like fairy tales, Sir. Are we going to play the Charming Prince and the Charming Princess ?

Waverly harrumphed. Mark Slate dragged his friend off the Old Man's office.

-You shouldn't play with fire, April.

* * *

-We don't have far to go, Master.

-Time will tell Eaque.


	8. Chapter 8

The show was in full swing. The different characters, the actors as the extras, were moving according a very precise choregraphy. A careful spectator might have noticed, for a few seconds, two monks who were drewing aside. The storyteller went on.

« _...il arriva que la jeune Princesse courant un jour dans le Château, et montant de chambre en chambre, alla jusqu'au haut d'un donjon dans un petit galetas, où une bonne Vieille était seule à filer sa quenouille... »_

**_["...it happened that the young princess ran through the castle from a room to another, until she found herself in a small room, in the top of a dungeon, where a good old woman was alone, spinning with a distaff."]_**

A floodlight lightened the top of the dungeon, then slid down the tower and crossed the yard, up to a littlestage. The two monks had first stiffened ; then, they quickly reached the entrance of the tower. The Russian had sharp ears. There was abolutely no noise behind the door. Ellsing took off his cowl and plunged his hand under the robe.

-I've brought some tools...

Illya Kuryakyn put his fingers on the door and slightly pushed it.

-No use ! Someone pulled the _bobinette,_ and the _chevillette_ fell !

-Eh ?

-You know The Little Red Riding Hood, don't you ? _« Tire la bobinette, et la chevillette cherra _! »

Ellsing muttered and began to undress.

-No, Ellsing, let's keep our robes, for the moment.

They came in. Illya Kuryakyn was ready for anything : darkness, coldness, the feeling of spider webs on the face... Not a bit of it. A round room, warm, broadly lightened by the floodlights through the window. No spider webs, no dust. The Russian wasn't accustomed to admitting weakness ; he was too easily influenced.

They looked around. As he entered the little backroom, behind the stairs, Ellsing slapped his forehead. The laughing visitor. He had forgotten him. He had thought that this man was probably one of the employees of the castle. And surely he was. Perhaps a technician of the show. Perhaps not, eventually. He should have told the Russian about him. Kuryakyn looked at him, inquiring. The Thrush man whispered.

-There was a man, last time I came here. I didn't see him. Ferat did. We could have met in the stairs, but I had stopped for awhile in the backroom. He was a technician, probably, or an extra of the show... Ferat had just noticed him, because it was his job. He had told me that the man was laughing...

-The more, the merrier...

Kuryakyn was back. Rational. Logical. Consequently, efficient. He had to be. He owed that to Napoleon.

* * *

-There is nothing to worry about, master. Things are going like clockwork. Thrush had provided for all the technical and ... visible sides of the operation and...

-You've been too fast a worker. You have eliminated the man called Harker. Too early. It might give us trouble. Thrush might worry about him..

-No, master, I have watched over it. Thrush doesn't suspect anything.

-Oh, really ? So, could you tell me about the man called... Ellsing ? Who is he ?

-A ... detail, master.

-Good ! And the others ? The men of the organisation called Uncle ? Some ... details, too, I guess ?

-The Uncle agents have investigated in Denmark and in Germany. They have gone back home. Empty-handed.

-Yes, yes... and what about France ?

-One of the Uncle agents had been taken care of... The other...

-Is one more detail, of course. I'll have you know that your two « details » are downstairs, Eaque. I'm sure you have a plan, don't you ?

Eaque cursed and rushed out.

* * *

The situation was quite amazing Illya Kuryakyn remembered some cooperation with a Thrush agent. Once, perhaps twice. For a very short time always. Cooperating with Thrush snakes often came to be out the frying pan into the fire... This time, things were different. He had been on the edge of killing the man. He couldn't understand why he hadn't... And now they worked together. Ellsing had granted him his cooperation, the Russian hadn't promised anything, except, perhaps, to let him live. Nevertheless, the Thrush man seemed to be an efficient ... companion. Not a partner.

They followed the spiral staircase until the first floor. Ellsing flattened himself against the wall while Kuryakyn leaped up to roll in the room. It was empty. Ellsing stayed outside, watching the stairs. They went up to the top of the tower, rushing in turn in every room. Quite safely. That was almost frustrating. The top floor was different : a small landing, leading in a slightly lit corridor. At the end, a wooden door. Ellsing pointed it out.

-Here we are !

He looked at the Russian, almost diffidently.

-I think... You could perhaps wait here. I am reckoned to be a Thrush, after all. I have some ... right... to be there.

It was pure logic... and extremely hazardous. Would he take that risk? A rational little voice hissed in the Russian's ear :"I can't see the logic of it"

Okay. No logic. Just ... instinct. Illya Kuryakyn stared at Ellsing, and showed him his gun.

-All right, Ellsing. I can wait here. And I can shoot you dead, first. Whatever happens. In this corridor, you'll be a sitting duck. In any case, I'm known to be...

-A marksman, yes. I've been told...

Ellsing was familiar with this sort of stare. Cold. Lethal. He nodded, and made his way toward the door. What if Harker was there ? He didn't know. At the end, he hesitated, and eventually chose to knock at the door. It was logic ... and extremely stupid. No answer. Ellsing pushed the leaf, and came in.

Since the beginning, Illya Kuryakyn had got a nasty feeling about this affair. He had taken the strain of it, eventually, and let Napoleon's optimistic mood convince him. He had been wrong. He shouldn't have left his pragmatic friend alone. Oh, Napoleon, if you could hear that... your cold, aloof partner, the efficient scientist, reproaching you for being too pragmatic. If you could hear that...

Illya Kuryakyn stiffened. He had lost sight of Ellsing.

-Kuryakyn ! Come in !

Ellsing rushed out and beckoned him. He looked stunned with surprise.

-It's... its impossible, Kuryakyn. I can't believe it.

The Russian pulled the Thrushman aside and entered the room. This one was as the others, except... except for...

An old woman, seated beside a spinning wheel, and a lovely young girl holding ... a distaff.

Waxworks. Beautiful costumes.

-Of course...

-I swear, Kuryakyn, I swear. The last time I came , there were no waxworks. It looked like a sitting room, with two armchairs, a table, a bookcase, a fireplace...

The Russian pointed at the wall.

-Well, here is the fireplace...

Illya Kuryakyn bent forward, and fingered the hearth.

-Slightly dusty. Some soot, some ashes.

Suddently, the darkness. They were professionals. None of them startled. Then, a green light, a very dim light

_...tout autour du parc une si grande quantité de grands arbres et de petits, de ronces et d'épines entrelacées les unes dans les autres, que bête ni homme n'y aurait pu passer: en sorte qu'on ne voyait plus que le haut des Tours du Château, encore n'était-ce que de bien loin...._

**_[...around the castle, many interlaced brambles and spines grew up , so that no one , neither men nor animals, could go there. Nothing was to be seen but the top of the turns of the castle, from a distance.]_**

Illya Kuryakyn cursed. He had told Ellsing that it was a race against time. They were loosing the race.

-The hell with this dungeon ! There is nothing, here. We must... we have to find... oh, yes, of course. The ending of the tale takes place in the Sleeping Beauty's bedroom. I think that someone is playing game with us. We have observed his rules. Now, I'll follow mines.

The Russian turned toward the Thrush man.

-Are you with me ? If you like, you can stay here or go where you want. Your choice.

-We are in the same boat, Kuryakyn... Lets' go to the young lady's bedroom...

* * *

He felt no real alarm.

The others had failed. He had succeeded. Almost.

He had the power, and he was to clean the old world so that he New one could come.

Men had feared him.

Now, they would love him. Worship him.


	9. Chapter 9

_The castle of Rigny Ussé is beautiful. He is really known as the castle of the Sleeping Beauty. There are a dungeon, a wooden spiral staircase, a Galerie...But I took (huge) liberties with the organisation of the castle... I apologize for that..._

* * *

« ...Au bout de cent ans, le Fils du Roi qui régnait alors, et qui était d'une autre famille que la Princesseendormie, étant allé à la chasse de ce côté-là, demanda ce que c'était que ces Tours qu'il voyait au-dessus d'un grand bois fort épais... »

_**[...At the end of the hundred years, the son of the King who reigned then, and who was of another family than that of the sleeping princess, was hunting near that place. He inquired of the peasantry what were the towers that peered above the deep forest... ]**_

The two monks went out the tower. Ellsing was heading to the yard, when the Russian caught his arm, and pulled him aside. It was very dark.

-Shhh !

The Thrush man knew better than to protest. He followed the Russian behind the bushes, along a ditch. They crouched down.

-My rules, Ellsing. Our friends want us to go in the castle, and to look after the Sleeping Beauty's bedroom. They deluded us. The tables are going to be turned.

Ellsing couldn't see his fellow's face, but the voice, although faint, was calm, steady.

-This dungeon is part of the delusion. An important part. Someone went to a hell of trouble, to fit out the place.

-Fit out ?

-Double spiral staircase, probably. Mirrors... Some nasty tricks. And bugs. Shhh, now. Just wait.

Illya Kuryakyn felt know easy in his mind. No more numbness. Something had stolen his intellect. His senses had been deluded. But he had broken the spell. He was one of the best agents of the Uncle. He would save the mission. And his partner.

* * *

-You're arrogant.

-We had spread terror in three countries. Five, soon. More, perhaps. Brilliant minds, important people died. Those who survived aren't worth have made good use of the organisation called Thrush. They have branches in several countries. Thrush... In the eyes of all, they're guilty. They're watched out, they're hunted. By the Uncle, in particular. All of them are puppets. I'm the puppeteer.

-You're arrogant.

-Thrush had played his part. While those guys are messing around, we go on. They'll understand, soon. Too late. They'll know what we can do. They'll have clues. Our show is... obvious. They'll pay. The world will be ours.

-You're arrogant. And self-absorbed. And childish.

-Oh, the tales... Childhood is a terrible world. The world of the worst monsters. Those you meet in said fairy tales. Only in tales you can see people who eat children : ogres ! Wolves, witches, horrible families... The kids yell, cry, but they know that everything will turn out all right. That the bad shall be punished, and the innocent saved. It's boring. Deadly boring. Our friends have been children. They have grown up. My tales are tales for grown up people... All the horrible things of the fairy tales are in. The child knows that the ogre isn't real. The grown up man isn't yet sure of that... Fear is often an efficient weapon. Irrational terror is the most efficient. It has made them lose their head...

-You're arrogant. You should remember : he who sows the wind shall reap the whirlwind.

-Yes, mother !

* * *

Illya Kuryakyn squeezed Ellsing's arm : the carved door of the dungeon opened, and a silhouette appeared.

_« ...À peine s'avança-t-il vers le bois, que tous ces grands arbres, ces ronces et ces épines s'écartèrent d'elles-mêmes pour le laisser passer: il marcha vers le Château qu'il voyait au bout d'une grande avenue où il entra, et ce qui le surprit un peu, il vit que personne de ses gens ne l'avait pu suivre, parce que les arbres s'étaient rapprochés dès qu'il avait été passé.... »_

_**He had begun to think of how to pass through the spines and brambles ; these spines and brambles parted, and separated from each other, as if to acknowledge the prince's royal right to pass through. The passage opened up before him, leading up towards the castle, at the end of the large avenue of spines and brambles. The prince saw that the avenue of brambles was closing up behind him, making it impossible for his men to follow him.**_ ]

The floodlights turned from green to yellow. The silhouette was a tall man, dressed in dark. He looked around and headed to the castle. The two men followed him, from a distance. Ellsing was puzzled : as a professional, he walked almost silently, even on the gravel ; Kuryakyn... Kuryakyn moved like a cat. He wasn't « almost silent ». He was silent.

The stranger pushed a little door open, behind the side wall of small stairs. The two men waited a minute. A narrow passage, five steps, and they came in what was probably the entrance hall. Illya Kuryakyn pinned Ellsing to the wall and pointed the wooden spiral staircase with his chin. A rope was denying the access, but it was still swaying. Someone had obviously cleared it. The Russian took Ellsing off to the next room, then quicky through a corridor. A new hall. The Russian whispered.

-The Galerie Centrale

Ellsing didn't ask... Illya Kuryakyn would have « read the guide »... They went up big stairs, and one minute later, they sheltered behind a display cabinet, at the entrance of the Galerie. It was long, with wide French windows on a side, and some huge tapestries on the other. Their target had stopped in the middle. He looked around, and stretched out his hand toward the tapestry in front of him.

The atmosphere was amazing : from the outside came the distant sound of the music, and the voice of the storyteller. The lighting effects were back. There was now much more light in the Galerie, so that the two men had to flattened themselves against the wall. For that reason, they couldn't see anymore what the man was doing.

A few minutes later, Illya Kuryakyn peeped into the Galerie. No one. He beckoned Ellsing. The two men came in front of the middle tapestry. With countless precautions, the Russian raised it. Behind, they saw a recess ; an alcove for a statue.

-Where is he ? Did he take something ?

Illya Kuryakyn didn't bother to answer. He handed the side of the tapestry to Ellsing, who held it without arguing. With astounding dexterity, he pulled himself up in the alcove, and began to touch lightly the stones of the vault. He « caressed » them almost tenderly. He didn't push, he didn't pull. A scraping. A sliding. Two stones gave way. A iron ring appeared. Ellsing cursed, and came by Kuryakyn's side. The Russian smiled and whispered.

-Turn it, don't pull.

Of course. There were obvious tracks. Ellsing turned the ring, and the inside partition gave way. A narrow passage slightly lit.

-It was a custom, in former time. There were many hidden ways in the castles. People could escape their enemies, avoid unpleasant meetings... Let's undress now.

The Russian put the robes in a wooden chest, and slipped into the passage. The small way led to another partition, with a little opening. The light source. Illya Kuryakyn peeped through it.

-I think that we have tracked down your friends...


	10. Chapter 10

He felt beads of sweat trickling down his cheeks. Something warmer on his lips. He licked them : blood. He didn't know where he was, but it was in complete darkness. He could be blind, as well. Perhaps he was. Illya. Illya was looking after him.

* * *

Ellsing looked through the opening : a large low-ceilinged room. Harker and seven Thrush men were sitting against the wall, asleep. Ellsing shivered.

-They are... exactly as Ferat. What... what are you doing ?

Illya Kuryakyn's hand were running on the partition, and on the wall. He turned toward Ellsing and smiled. His left hand handed a small lever.

-What are you doing ? We can't.... It's dangerous. You haven't seen Ferat and the others. They..

-No, Ellsing Our man has gone this way. Come on !

-I can't. Look at them, Kuryakyn : they are waiting for us. If we jump down, they'll...

-You told me that they were sleeping, in the café, until you touched them.

-Eventually, I had to kill them. Four of my men. These are Thrush men, too, Kuryakyn. I have worked with ... What ... ? No !

Illya Kuryakyn pulled the small lever, and the partition gave way. The Russian nimbly dropped into the room, landing on his feet. He didn't turn back, and headed for what looked like a way out, behind a sort af dark sleepers kept still. Illya Kuryakyn didn't think anymore. It was just time to act. Ellsing... Too bad ! He took out his gun and quickly pulled the curtain. The white light dazzled him. A voice yelled.

-**NO ! NO ! YOU CAN'T DO THAT !**

The Russian hesitated.

**-YOU CAN'T BE HERE ! GO AWAY !**

His eyes got used to the light. He could see two shapes. Human figures. Were they a threat ? Not really. Illy took a step forward. Another step. One of the two « men »clutched at his companion's arm.

**-TELL HIM ! TELL HIM ! HE MUST GO AWAY !**

They saw him. The one who yelled talked about him. But they didn't look at him. They stared a place where ... he wasn't.

Illya Kuryakyn rushed at them, ready to the impact. All the Russian collided with was the opposite wall. The white light weakened. Amazingly, leaned against the stones, Illya smiled. A new delusion ? Perhaps not. He didn't know what he had seen. What he knew was that one of the « men » was absolutely mad at his companion. Illya's presence had been noticed... He was obviously a trouble. A big trouble. He looked around. On his left, another curtain.

Okay. It was a race. He had to keep on moving. Forestalling. He'd make their life hell. He pulled the curtain. A new room, empty. A new curtain. A new room, empty. A new curtain. Illya Kuryakyn came in what he thought to be a fourth room, as empty as the others. The floor suddenly gave way under him. A well ? Oubliettes ? No. Hard and repeated impacts told him : stairs. He tried to curl himself up into a ball, but he wasn't sure that he had always arms, legs, head... Yes. Head, he had. The incredible pain proved it. The fall looked like to be endless. Actually, the Russian lied on the ground. A total wreck.

* * *

-He couldn't, Eaque. He couldn't be there. He had nothing to do there. Where is he, now ?

-I don't know, master. I've lost his track.

-You don't know... And the other ? Where is the other ?

-I... I don't know, master.

-You don't know. You don't know anything. If you don't know, you are no use, anymore.

-I... please, master, no...

* * *

Illya'd be mad at him. He remembered that last thought. He was in the garden of the castle... Then... His head hurt. His ribs hurt. He was hungry. But obviously alive. And unbound. And eventually not blind. A very weak glimmer had appeared in front of him. Illya was looking after him. He always did. Napoleon Solo successfully tried to get on his feet. He had to help Illya.

* * *

-You've been arrogant.

-...

-You've been arrogant. You are going to fail. Didn't I say so ? You played the puppeteer. Your victims didn't agree. What is a puppeteer without puppets ?

-...

* * *

Illya Kuryakyn opened his eyes. Darkness. Not a complete one. Some light, above him. It hurt. It was an ocean of pain. Every breath hurted. But Napoleon was down here. He knew that, and he had to get up, he had to find him. There was no choice. In a lucid moment, he asked himself about his ability to do... anything. His arms, his wrists, his legs, his ankles hurt. Broken ? He cautiously tried to move a finger. A hand. An arm. The other. Then, the legs. It hurt, sprains, probably. Bruises. But... it worked. Panting, choking, he managed to get on his feet, leaning against the wall. He took a faltering step toward the stairs, and stopped, feeling like he was about to collapse. He closed his eyes, concentrating himself on staying conscious.

* * *

Napoleon Solo bent over and touched the floor. Ground. He took a sniff... Humus. It smelled ... humus. The glimmer he saw came from the outside. He had to find a wall ; then, he could hug it until he could find an exit. He staggered through the darkness. Despite his cautiousness, he ruthlessly collided with the stone wall. He cursed loudly, not that he had hurt himself, but because it was a relief. He was a man, an Uncle agent. A damned good agent.

* * *

What... ? He opened his eyes. He had heard something. No. Not something. A voice. His voice. Napoleon Solo's voice. He forgot all, and called :

-Napoleon ? Are you here ? Napoleon ?

Silence.

* * *

A voice. His name. Illya's voice. Napoleon Solo managed to breath again.

-Illya ?

-Yes. Go on speaking...

-You were right, Illya. It was a hell of an affair... Illya ?

-Go on.

The Russian was listening, trying to locate his partner. He went along the wall. The voice became louder. Suddenly, Illya's hand rubbed a wooden surface. A door. He frantically shook it, until he pushed it open. Then, here was his partner. Napoleon grabbed his arm and hugged him. Illya reciprocated the hug. Both winced, but they couldn't stop embracing, for a few minutes.

-Don't ask...

-Don't tell...

The, they released their embrace.

-It's a sort of cellar, Illya. Look. Can you see this glimmer ?

Illya Kuryakyn chuckled and held out his flashlight, luckily intact.

-It isn't a cellar, Napoleon. It's a sort of secret room. We have to find the entrance of the underground way.

Napoleon couldn't see his partner very well, but this man was undoubtedly Illya. You could put him in a dark, unknown place, and he exactly knew where he was, and how to get out.

-There are secret ways in this castle ; in the old kitchens, in the cellars. They were « escape routes ». One of them lead to the forest of Chinon. We must find the exit of this one, my friend.

-Let's do that... Oh, Illya, how...

-I read a guide.

-Of course.

Wounds, bruises, strains... Nothing mattered anymore. It didn't take them ages to explore the room, The flash light helped them to notice a change in the wall. No more mortar, just stones. The two men pulled, pushed, with their hands, with their feet. Eventually, it gave way. They walked a few minutes in a sort of narrow cave, feeling the coolness of the outside air... Some bushes,and a few steps later, they were free, on a scree. The castle was below.

* * *

-You've lost. The game is over.

-...

-You had been arrogant, "mastermind".

-...

-Next time, you'll follow some more wise advices, « master of the world. »

-The blond and the other had no right to do that. They acted against the rules !

-Poor little puppeteer...

* * *

-The show is over.

-The show ?

-The son et lumière. It tells the story of the Sleeping Beauty.

Yellow floodlights illuminated the castle. Napoleon Solo turned toward his friend, and frowned.

-You look like hell, tovarisch.

-Speaking of that, Napoleon, I am sorry to tell you that you are not actually a Charming Prince... Let's go the parking area. You need a weapon, and...

-Water, and something to eat, Illya. And some news.

The two Uncle agents were cautiously heading to Illya's car, when the Russian stopped. Footsteps. Someone was running on the gravel. Solo and Kuryakyn sheltered behind a bush. A panting man appeared. Napoleon was to jump on him, but Kuryakyn grabbed his arm.

-Ellsing !

The Thrush man was taken aback. Then, he smiled with a sort of relief.

-Napoleon, let me introduce you Mr Ellsing, a Thrush friend... of mines. Mr Ellsing, here is my partner, Napoleon Solo.

It was Solo's turn to be taken aback. He was almost appalled. Illya Kuryakyn had kept his hand on his partner's arm and he felt the strain.

-Whatever happened isn't yet a Thrush affair, Napoleon. They had been part of, but things have changed. First things first. Ellsing, what ...

-Nothing. When you jumped in the room, I stayed in the passage ; I peeked at Harker and the others. They didn't move. I hesitated and I was ready to follow you when I heard some yells. And...

Ellsing stopped, panting.

-They awoke, Kuryakyn. Not like Ferat in the café. No. They truly awoke. I called them, and we came back in the Galerie. Harker told me about a man called Eaque, who was the agent of our « sleeping partner », as he said. Eaque is the man we have followed. Harker and the guys have checked the castle and the dungeon ... and

-And ?

-Nothing. Nobody. Everything is okay. As if nothing had happened. Well, you made it, too. Good thing. I hope to ... never hear of you anymore, Mr Kuryakyn. Mr Solo.

Ellsing gave a salute, turned on his heel, and went away. Still appalled, Solo looked at his partner.

-We can't let him go. We must catch him, and the others. They are Thrush. They have killed people...

Without turning toward them, Ellsing added.

-Harker is in the dungeon. I unfortunately locked him up. The others are waiting for me, and we'll leave this castle, right now.

And he disappeared in the darkness.

The two Uncle agents walked without speaking. They staggered shoulder against shoulder, and got in Illya's car. The Russian opened his communicator. Although exhausted, he made a precise report on the last events, ending by Ellsing's « regrettable escape ». He was waiting for Waverly's reaction. The voice was unusually gentle, almost soothing.

-Good, Mr Kuryakyn, good. You have to know that things are going back to normal, in Denmark, in France, in England. In Germany, the wounded people are healing. It began a few hours ago. I'll sent our local operatives to take care of your Mr Harker. Can you manage to come back ? Do you need help ?

Illya Kuryakyn smiled.

-We're fine, sir. Some bruises... Nothing that a good lunch and a good night can't cure...

-See you soon, so, young men. Oh, miss Dancer and Mr Slate are on their way to join you in Rigny Ussé. They'll be there tomorrow... Just wait for them.

-He didn't ask a lot...

-We didn't tell a lot....

_An epilog will follow, perhaps two..._


	11. Chapter 11

Napoleon Solo entered the office he shared with Illya. Of course, his Russian friend was already there. His face showed some marks of their adventure. So did his... When they had come back, the week before, Waverley was in England. They had reported, of course. The Old Man had asked after them, of course. He was back, and of course, he wanted to see them.

* * *

Waverly read again the last file. He frowned : that had been a very amazing affair. He had assigned his best agents to it. His proverbial flair had lived up to his reputation. Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakyn had been the good choice.

The door opened ; his two visitors came in. They nodded to him and sat down. « Everyone in his place... », he thought. The two young men looked at him, expectantly. Solo mechanically checked his tie ; Waverly cleared his throat and chuckled. The two young agents were taken aback.

-Don't you have this feeling of « déjà vu », young men ? Well, a very strange affair. I have read your report. Our local agents have checked all the castle. They have found the secret ways, the hidden rooms...The have gone through the dungeon with a fine-tooth comb. No tricks, Mr Kuryakyn. Mr Harker is unusually talkative, but what he says doesn't help. He heard, by chance, that a financial trust was planning to launch a succession of attacks against some European countries. Those attacks would be based on old fairy tales... The aim was a large-scale blackmail. Harker got in touch with them, and offered the help of Thrush... They made a bargain. In fact, Harker thinks that he has been deluded... What happened in the castle, Mr Kuryakyn ? Mr Solo was captive.

-You have read my report, sir.

Waverly met Illya Kuryakyn's gaze. The blue eyes were obviously telling the truth...

-Mr Kuryakyn, you did something, that night. I don't know what. You don't know what. What you did... saved a lot of people, Mr Kuryakyn. There were unfortunately some casualties, but lives have been spared. The enemy has disappeared. His plan has been a failure.

-I can't tell you anything else, sir.

-What about this room, those two strangers, those yells ?

-There were not there, sir. They were ... a projection, a reflection... I don't know what they were.

Waverly stretched his arm and put his hand on the Russian's wrist.

-What did the voice say ?

-That I couldn't do that, that I couldn't be there. He asked the other to tell me that I had to go away.

-And then, you rushed at them...

-And they weren't there anymore, sir. I did ... nothing.

The old Man leaned back in his chair, thoughtfull. Illya Kuryakyn closed his eyes.

-The voice was...

-Yes, Mr Kuryakyn ?

-The voice was childish. A spoilt child, throwing a big tantrum.

Napoleon Solo leaned forward.

-I know what you did, Illya.

The two others looked at him. Napoleon Solo smiled at his partner.

-You ... disobeyed. You didn't follow the rules of his game. I don't know who were these men, I am not quite sure of what they were. But I know how you saved the world : Thrush, Mr Waverley, April, Mark and I, all of us, agreed to play. You... you, my friend, you cheated !

Alexander Waverly kept silent awhile.

-This affair is closed, young men. At least, I hope so. The official file will enclose Mr Harker's revelations, and your reports. Except for this irrational episode of course.

* * *

-Have you heard that ? You see ? This man is right. The blond has cheated ! I should have won ! It isn't fair !

-No, boy : you have created the game, you have laid down the rules. You have let some shortcomings. This one took advantage of them. Fair is fair, my son. If you'll forgive the pun...

-Next time...

-Oh, no, boy. Never, nevermore. And don't mutter.

* * *

**THE END ... **

**however...**

The two Uncle agents walked along the street. Napoleon Solo put his hand on his friend's shoulder.

-Illya, we need to talk...

-Napoleon, I can't tell you more, please...

-No, my friend, no. Well, I have been deprived of something. I deserved it.

Illya Kuryakyn looked at his friend, and saw two glittering eyes.

-You deserve so much, my friend...

-I was casted as the Charming Prince. I played the part of the Sleeping Beauty. Okay. So why didn't I get MY Charming Prince ?

-I'm sorry ; I was a little busy. I didn't find time to get a Charming Princess. But you'll easily find one...

Napoleon's hand squeezed Illya's arm.

-Did I say "Charming **Princess** "?


End file.
